Challenge 125: Red
He’s propped up against her doorframe, heart pounding, head swimming, and when the door opens and he sees her face, her coffee brown skin and red red lips, he feels something like a fissure open inside him.
“Dean?” She asks on a warm, sweet breath. Her eyes take in his face, track down his chest to where the hand is pressed over the wound, sticky with blood. “What--?”
He quirks a grin, can’t help himself. “Cassie. Had to see you.”
“God, Dean. God--” Then she’s filling his arms, leading him inside. Welcoming him.
“Yeah,” he says.
And believes.